I frown, having missed the first half of this exchange.
‘I only mean,’ he goes on, ‘after the shambles in the ballroom, you might be better off saving any grand declarations till after this is over. Starting something on a journey like this is a recipe for disaster. We’re carrying the weight of the realms on our shoulders; there’s too much pressure. Emotions are running sky-high.’
‘Does Maris subscribe to this principle too?’ I swipe back, steering the conversation to safer ground.
He shrugs. ‘Mar and I have an understanding. She’s beautiful, and she’s got spirit. I like that in a person. She knows who she is. But we’ve made no promises to each other beyond enjoying each other’s company. People have needs, you know…’
I twist away in disgust.
He claps a meaty hand on my shoulder. ‘My mistake. Saving yourself for your binding night, eh, Peacock?’
I shake myself loose. ‘None of your concern, Arcuri.’
He holds his hands up. ‘Only yanking your chain. Can’t help myself when you make it so flaming easy. But my logic is sound. No one can trust what they’re feeling at the moment.’
This time it’s Blayze who glances over to the palace.
‘About that…’ I shift my weight, looking anywhere but at him. ‘That oath you swore, the vow you made. I release you from it.’
The Clanschief stops in his tracks, whirls to face me. ‘I owe you my life – Serafine’s too. And she’s the most important thing in the four realms to me.’ He cranes his neck, watching as the emberwing flashes overhead like a second comet. ‘You’re bound by your own codes of honour – I know this about you. So, you’ll understand why I’m keeping my word.’
There’s a pause as our eyes lock. At length, I nod. Accepting his pledge.
‘Doesn’t mean I like you though,’ he says, starting for the palace again.
‘Sworn enemies still?’
Blayze snorts. ‘Prefer rivals, myself.’
‘Rivals, then.’
‘Till the realms end, Peacock. Till the realms end.’
It’s meant as a joke, yet the words wound; the whole exchange is strangely whetted. Its sharp edges slicing at suspicions I can’t yet name and don’t want to examine too closely.
DARK POWERS
LEILANI
DAWNRISEREVEALSTHEthick coat of grime shrouding the chamber the others forced me to accept last night when we occupied the Silver Palace. What I mistook for a haven is reduced to something more akin to a horrorscape the longer I look at it.
Cobwebs drape over cut-crystal chandeliers and silvered mirrors, so foxed and filthy it’s impossible to see your reflection in them. The stuccoed ceiling is peeling like a blistered fever corpse, the once-fine furnishings and tapestries, dusty and moth-eaten. Lighting fires in the grates last night was a mistake. A rancid fust of mildew now rises from the spongy mattress beneath me, pulling me fully awake.
Every part of me hurts. I sit up slowly, trying to avoid the sudden movements that send shooting pains up my back. I told them to let Delphine have the bed. I was more than happy to take a chair; so tired I would have settled for a fur on the filthy marble floor. But they insisted I needed rest more than any of them. And rest I did, despite the putrefied mattress. I slept like the dead. Summoning starshine that last time has drained me in ways I still don’t understand.
I search for the thread connecting me to Orthriel. Still nothing. It’s like I’m missing a limb.
Hushed voices drift from the next room. I stand and move towards them but almost trip on a large silver vase lying on the floor. I pick it up by a handle shaped like a curved spray of heartflowers, the dainty blossoms dangling on tendril-stems, and place it on a crescent-bookcase. There are dents all over the vase, like it’s been dropped several times.
There’s something oddly familiar about the bookcase. I slough my finger through the dust caking its surface. Something sparkles beneath. I wipe away more dust, using my sleeve this time, to reveal delicate carvings of the lunar phases. I recognise the engraver’s hand – the same that etched the constellations into my desk back at the Crystal Court. A pair. Hairs rise on the back of my neck.
These were Noelani’s rooms.
‘When will you leave?’ Maris’ voice in the next room jerks my attention back to the present.
She and Delphine stand huddled in the far corner of the central dressing chamber, their backs to me.
‘Straight away.’ Delphine’s voice is sweet as nectar, but her shoulders hang limp and her hair is the brownish-grey of smoky quartz. ‘Astrophel says the map shows a spring north of the city gates. Even if I only spend a few hours in the water, it will build my strength for the next phase of our journey. I won’t let you down.’
